Must Be Loony
by Tegildess
Summary: He's a published herbologist, Hogwarts professor, and hero of the Second War– so why can't he get the only girl he's ever wanted? See what happens when three former classmates and one unwanted naturalist reunite with posts at Hogwarts. Please R R!
1. Not My Day

A/N: I just want happy endings for Neville and Luna, that's all. 

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

**This is Not My Day**

Neville Longbottom realized, standing on the platform at Kings Cross, that he might not have given Luna Lovegood the best advice when he had last seen her, three year ago. Of course he had been right to say that traveling the world with possibly the most famous wizard naturalist of the last century (Newt Scamander) was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but he hadn't exactly been counting on Scamander's _son_ tagging alone. He wanted to kick himself. Rolf Scamander was by all accounts quite worldly, quite intelligent, and– coming right towards him.

"Oh! Neville!" Luna called brightly, waving to her old friend across the platform. "I didn't see you! Have you met Rolf yet? I'm sure you've been to some of the same conventions."

As he stuck out his hand to shake Rolf's, Neville was forced to admit to himself (quite unhappily) that Scamander junior was also quite good-looking. The only thing Neville could find to comfort himself was the fact that, for all of Rolf Scamander's world exploration, Neville's hands were more callused.

_That'll show him_, Neville thought half-heartedly.

"Nice to meet you," said Rolf politely. "Luna's told me all about you. And I saw your book in Flourish and Blott's– really an interesting concept, other magical properties of traditionally wand-quality wood."

Neville felt his face flush in spite of himself. It had been his first book– _Wizards' Works and Wand Wood_ by Neville Frank Longbottom, and he had been quite proud of it. The _Daily Prophet_ had even printed a short article on page 14 reviewing the book. Apparently, Neville wasn't nearly as interesting as an herbologist than as a hero of the Second War. His gran, in any case, had bought a couple dozen copies, as well as his former Professor Sprout, who he was replacing that day.

"And I've seen your new book, too," Neville said politely, with a nod. "Hippogriffs have interested me since I was at Hogwarts." That was not quite true, actually. The one time he's encountered them in a Care of Magical Creatures class, they hadn't built much of a rapport.

"Oh, well, _The Hype about Hippogriffs_ isn't actually my latest work," said Rolf, looking a bit embarrassed– probably _for_ Neville. "I just co-authored a book with Luna about our travels in the Amazon. But maybe it hasn't been publicized much here in Britain."

Neville blushed an even deeper red. Of course he'd seen the book by Rolf Scamander _and_ Luna Lovegood. He'd waited in line to buy it the first day and, actually, had it packed in his trunk right at that moment. He had planned on congratulating Luna separately, but now she probably simply thought him uncaring.

A horn sounded from the front of the Hogwarts Express.

Neville glanced up at the clock on the wall, 10:58. "Er– I'd better be boarding. Very nice to meet you. Here to see Luna off?" Neville had been almost ridiculously excited to learn that he and Luna would be working together at Hogwarts that year, professors of Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, respectively.

"Actually, no," Rolf replied, beaming at Luna, who smiled back. "Luna's working on another book of some of the things we saw on our travels. She'll be busy a lot, so Headmistress McGonagall's taken me on to split classes."

Neville nodded and must have said something very suitable, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. He was too shocked. Over the past three years when Luna had been away, Neville had thought countless times about what it would be like to see her again– and in the past month, he'd thought countless times about what it would be like to work with her at Hogwarts. This was not what he had imagined.

"Isn't it exciting Neville?" Luna asked, oblivious to the fact the Neville had grown about as pale as an Abyssinian shrivelfig. "Rolf never went to Hogwarts, you see? He was always traveling." She looked up at him with an almost adoring glance. "We should have you sorted."

Rolf laughed and picked up both his and Luna's trunks to load onto the train. Neville, grabbing his own, had a fleeting picture of Scamander standing nervously in the midst of all the tiny, twittering first years. Lost in his thoughts, he crashed into one of the only other adults boarding the train in the midst of the excited students.

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry!" the woman said, bending down hastily to throw some of her things into her trunk, which had burst open in the crash.

"No, no, it was my fault," Neville said, looking over his shoulder to see if Scamander, or worse, Luna, had seen him acting as clumsy as he had been on _his_ first trip to Hogwarts. "Here, _reparo!_" he said with a flick of his wand.

"Thanks," said the woman, who kept her eyes glued to the ground as though determined to keep her face hidden. The train began to move.

"Oh, Merlin!" she whispered, jumping on with Neville just in time and tearing her robe in the process. She laughed wryly. "This is not my day, is it? I should probably be more careful with the students' health, don't you think?"

Neville gaped. "You're taking over for Madame Pomfrey then?" he asked. "I didn't know there were going to be any more staff appointments besides me and Luna– but then, I didn't know about _Rolf Scamander_ either."

"Luna?" she asked, her voice a bit squeaky. "Luna Lovegood?" And almost inaudible: "No, this is definitely_ not_ my day."

Neville was confused­, but any and all misunderstanding was cleared up in a moment when Luna popped her blonde head out of a nearby compartment and spotted the two new staff appointments standing so awkwardly in the hallway.

"There's room in here, Neville!" she called brightly. And spotting the other woman, who had finally looked up– "Why, you were in the DA weren't you? I'm sorry, I can't remember your name."

Neville looked over at the woman, who had gone completely red. He could remember her name.

"Edgecombe," he said, almost accusingly.

Turning quickly, Marietta Edgecombe set off down the corridor to find another compartment without a word.

"Why, it's good that acne cleared up, isn't it?" Luna asked serenely, looking genuinely pleased.

Neville nodded and stepped into Luna and Rolf's compartment. It wasn't until the train was passing rolling green hills with no habitations in sight, and Rolf had began to talk about the Augurey he'd seen with his father once while caught in a rainstorm, that Neville realized his hands were still clenched.


	2. In the DA

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Were you in the DA _too_? 

"Welcome to Greenhouse One, class!" Neville said, reminded strongly of _his_ own first day of classes such a long time ago (had it really been _ten_ years?). "We'll be starting with something relatively straightforward today, just to get you right into what herbology's all about. All right? Any questions?"

The first years looked at their feet timidly and didn't meet his eyes, choosing instead to fiddle with their new robes or pick invisible splinters out of their thumbs. He grinned. Thank goodness they didn't realize it was his first day as a teacher too.

"Good, then, let's get working." Neville grabbed a large planter and swung it rather unhandily up onto the large rectangular table that took up the center of the greenhouse. Sweating profusely (and wondering darkly how much _Rolf_ sweated when he worked), he finished with the final three planters before he realized he could have very easily just used magic.

"Okay– right–" he panted, pointing to the pots in front of him, from which grew large, bright bunches of pretty (pretty mundane, that is) yellow flowers. "Who can– tell me– what these are?"

Neville could notice a couple of the more bookish-looking students gazing intently at the flowers, clearly trying to remember what page they had seen them on in one of the textbooks they'd inevitable been perusing the night before. Finally, a small girl practically swimming in new Hufflepuff robes raised her hand, blushing furiously.

"Yes?" Neville asked, giving her an encouraging smile.

"Are they… are they daisies, Professor?" Neville made a mental note to remember that the first time anybody called him "Professor," they weren't being rude or sarcastic or cheeky as might have happened had he gotten Slytherins first. Already, some older Slytherins were giving him furtive dirty looks in the corridors, no doubt because he had proved himself two years ago a _true_ Gryffindor by pulling out that sword from the Sorting hat…

"Er– yes! Absolutely!" he said, realizing that the class was silently awaiting his answer. "Five points to Hufflepuff, well done." The girl only blushed harder as a classmate clapped her on the back.

Neville smiled at the confused looks on a number of the first years' faces, particularly the ones who'd been so intent on getting the right answer.

"I know what you're thinking, that it isn't a magical plant exactly," he continued. "But fresh daisies are used in a potion you may or may not have heard of yet from your Potions master called a Shrinking Solution. So, even if it doesn't take any magic to do so, caring for them properly is extremely important."

Using his wand now, Neville floated a planter over to each side of the table and instructed the students on how to water and re-pot them into smaller containers. It wasn't particularly difficult work, and it was such a beautiful day that the students, as their tongues loosened up, became positively _chatty_.

"Professor?" one boy asked as he (rather over-meticulously) measured out water to pour into the new pot. "Some of the older students have been…" he looked around and some of his classmates gave him eager nods. "Well, they've been saying that you, er, you fought _him_… _here_."

He sighed and looked at the class that, previously timid, was now gazing up at him eagerly. Neville couldn't help himself– he smiled. "Not exactly fought–"

"But you pulled out Gryffindor's sword–"

"And killed his snake!"

"And when he asked you to join him, you said no!"

"– and shouted _DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY!_" One boy, imitating Neville defying Voldemort, knocked over a pot in his enthusiasm. "Oh, sorry…"

"Well, you seem to be able to tell the story better than I can," said Neville, watching the boy who'd knocked over the pot, a bit worried. He was looking at his hand, which looked to have been sliced cleanly open across the palm.

"Are you all right?" Neville asked, grabbing his arm to look at the cut more closely. _Daisies_. He had not expected any injuries that day.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," said the boy, who seemed to consider the cut a minor curiosity. "In Dumbledore's Army, did you really have the coins?"

"I'd mend that myself, but I'm really no good at, well, anything but Herbology, so I'll take you up the hospital wing." And to the rest of them: "Class dismissed."

The boy kept up his stream of questions all the way up to the hospital wing, somehow able to ignore the blood dripping from his hand. Neville wasn't sure whether that indifference or his unending questions was more alarming.

"Professor Lovegood says that she was in Dumbledore's Army too." Neville snapped out of his reverie at the mention of Luna's name. "Was she? Were you friends? Did you fight together? I _heard_ you fought with Harry Potter at the Ministry of Magic too. Really? Was it really in the Department of Mysteries? That sounds cool. My dad works at the Ministry and _he's_ never even been there. I saw your statue in the Ministry too, this summer. That's cool too. I don't think I'll ever have a statue. Professor Lovegood says you deserve it, getting rid of a Core husk, er, a Huxor, er, you know… _his_ snake thing."

"That's nice of Professor Lovegood to say," Neville replied. "How is she– I mean, how do you like her class?"

"Oh, it's great!" said the boy brightly as they stepped into the hospital wing and were met by Marietta. "Hi Madame Edgecombe!"

Marietta crossed her arms. "How many times are you going to visit me today?" she asked, examining his hand carefully. She looked up at Neville– "How'd he do this?" she asked.

"Knocked over a pot," Neville replied rather curtly. Marietta looked away and pulled out her wand rather haughtily.

"Well, this is really nothing," she told the boy, pointedly looking away from Neville. "I don't see why you were even brought up here­– _episkey!_" The cut sealed up so that only a rusty-red residue remained on his hand. "_Tergeo._"

"You know why I knocked over the pot?" the boy asked, so clearly eager to tell a story that he didn't wait for a response to continue. "Professor Longbottom was telling us about when he fought You-Know-Who in Dumbledore's Army!"

Marietta dropped her wand.

"_Accio_," said Neville as she bent down to retrieve it. He handed the wand back to Marietta, and she glanced up at him angrily.

"He was, was he?" she said tersely. "I'm sure it was a riveting story."

"Oh, yeah, but that was the second time we got it. Professor Lovegood told us all about it too, because she was in the _DA_, you know."

"Yes she was," said Marietta, shepherding the boy out of the room. "You're all done now, and I don't want to see you until after dinner at least, so–"

"Wait," said the boy, finally having listened to her rather than speak. He looked back from Neville to Marietta in awe. "Were you in the DA _too_?"

Neville watched her coldly, simultaneously amazed that he could have held a grudge for so long. He hadn't even _known_ he was still upset at Marietta's betrayal. Hadn't it been five years? It certainly didn't feel like five years.

Marietta raised her eyebrows at the boy and crossed her arms again. "Now what do _you_ think?" He smiled sheepishly and ran off as the bell rang for the next class to begin. "And don't come back!" And with a pointed glance at Neville, she turned her back and returned to mixing a potion in her office at the back of the room.


	3. Letters

A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews! Ferusolin– definitely will continue Muggle Studies, but I had this idea and kind of wanted to just run with it. :)

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Letters 

_Neville,_

_I think this is the first year you've ever come to Hogwarts without me having to send along something after you, so I sent a package anyway. Dress robes– belonged to your father, and I'm not about to wear them so you might as well have them at Hogwarts. And you may need them sometime. You're twenty, you can find a nice, sensible girl– your friends Harry Potter and that Weasley, Ronald, are already engaged, aren't they? I won't be around forever to wait for more Longbottoms, you know._

_Gran_

_P.S: Don't think just because you're a professor now you can't write me!_

_---_

_To: Mr. Neville F. Longbottom_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Dear Mr. Longbottom,_

_It had recently come to the attention of St. Mungo's that the bowtruckles of East Lancashire carry a particular strain of Vanishing Sickness resistant to most common vaccines. Since you have been noted as being in close contact with wand-quality wood trees, you may have been exposed._

_If you experience any nausea, vertigo, or lose your reflection in the mirror, please see a certified Healer as soon as possible._

_Sincerely,_

_Augustus Pye_

_St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

---

_Dear Neville,_

Hoping you're well and the start of term went smoothly! Just wanted to let you know that Ron, Harry, Ginny and I will be back in town next weekend and would love to see you any time you're available. I expect your schedule is a bit more rigid than ours as a Hogwarts PROFESSOR. Congratulations, by the way, and please say hello to Luna and Professor McGonagall for us (I just can't get into the habit of calling her Minerva– I wonder if you have the same problem?). In any case, looking forward to see you soon.

_Yours truly,_

_Hermione (and Ron, and Harry, and Ginny, although they aren't bothering to write this and just dictating over my shoulder, goodness)._

_P.S: Ron says he would happily write this letter if his hand was in any shape to do so. He got a bit of a burn off a fire crab in France and won't let up about it. Don't listen to a word he says about giving up his right hand to shield me from a stinging hex, he's just embarrassed– practically stuck his hand in the thing's mouth._

Neville was so intent on reading the letter from his friends that a long stream of milk had dribbled off his spoon onto his black robes.

"Wrackspurt got you, Neville?" a soft, almost musical voice asked from behind him. Luna took the seat to his left and spooned herself some oatmeal.

Neville wiped hastily at his front, looking around edgily. Rolf was nowhere in sight, thank goodness. He hated to look stupid in comparison.

"Just reading a letter, from Hermione," he said, holding out the parchment for Luna to see. "They're almost back– oh! And they say hello."

Neville friends had been gone for about a month, traveling all over Europe– Ginny with the Hollyhead Harpies which had taken her on a few months before, Hermione on a house-elf rights campaign across the continent, and Harry and Ron tracking down remaining dark wizards as aurors for the Ministry. It had been quite a while since he'd heard from any of them, and it sounded like they had all met up for the trip back. In any case, the letter was a pleasant surprise.

"Hello Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Ginny," said Luna distinctly to the empty space in front of her. "I'm very well and hope you are too. Thank you for sending Neville the letter– he's been looking a bit down lately."

Neville flushed, and Luna turned to him, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"No, I don't think they can hear me," she said serenely, poking at the quickly cooling oatmeal in front of her with a spoon. "But it's always nice to direct some positive energy toward friends. I think it makes a difference."

Neville shook his head, amazed, and tucked back into his cereal. Luna Lovegood was possibly the strangest girl he'd ever met, but it wasn't a bad sort of strange at all. And come to think of it, she wasn't nearly as, er, _different_ as she had been when they were students at Hogwarts. No more vegetable-shaped earrings, and a lot less quoting of her father and _The Quibbler_. Three years away seemed to have made Luna more sensible… a bit, at least. Sensible…

Nevile got up from the table so quickly that he nearly spilled an entire jug of milk on himself. "I-I need to go, Luna– send a letter," he called over his shoulder as she looked up placidly to see why he was in such a rush.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Thank you very much for your letter– I really appreciated it. Next weekend is actually the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, and, if you're not busy, it would be wonderful to meet with you. Write me back to work out the specific place and time._

_Thanks a lot,_

_Neville_

_P.S: I have some DA problems you might be able to help me with._


	4. Girls are Crazy

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Girls Are Crazy 

The Three Broomsticks was nice, really, but after all that had happened his seventh year at Hogwarts, Neville felt a strong sort of affiliation with the other Hogsmeade pub, The Hog's Head– and that's where he chose to meet with his former classmates.

"So what's all this talk about _DA_ problems?" Ron asked rather loudly, taking a seat at the grimy table in the corner Neville had chosen.

"Keep it down, Ron!" Hermione hissed. "Don't you remember what happened the last time we made DA plans in here?"

Ron scowled. "Well that wasn't exactly my fault, was it?"

Neville exchanged grins with Harry and Ginny. It was like nothing had changed. Well, except for the fact that Harry had another painful-looking scar on his neck and Ron looked like he was trying to grow a goatee…and failing.

"Yeah, Neville," said Ginny, examining her glass very carefully before taking a tiny sip of the butterbeer. "Don't tell us you're trying to start it up again with your no doubt many admirers."

"Oh, that's right!" said Hermione. "How are your students? I'm sure they've heard all about the Battle…"

Nevile grimaced and thought of his first years in Greehouse One. "There's one first year I'm convinced wants to start a fan club," he muttered darkly.

Ginny nodded knowingly. "Just remember– fame's a fickle friend, Neville." Harry snorted firewhiskey all down his front.

"No, that's not it at all," Neville said quickly. "It's just– well, there are some staff appointments this years that… er… what I mean to say is–"

"Come on, Neville, get to the point," said Ron. Hermione gave him a scathing look, and Ginny sighed.

"Well I'd think it was obvious," said Hermione, raising an eyebrow. "You mean Luna, don't you?"

Ginny nodded, smiling, but Ron and Harry simply gaped and looked back and forth from each other to Neville and back again. Neville, of course, had never said anything to them in all the time they'd been in the same dorm at Hogwarts, but all the same, he still hadn't expected shock.

"No _way_!" shouted Ron, spitting out a bit of his drink and some unidentifiable food, which got stuck in his beard. Hermione rolled her eyes and made a compulsive movement to wipe her own face.

"Really, Neville?" Harry asked, glancing at Ginny as though she knew would be able to give him the definitive answer.

"She used to talk about you all the time at Hogwarts," said Ginny casually, and Neville felt a leap somewhere in the region of his stomach.

With a look of not wanting to disturb the conversation but having gone too long without saying something, Hermione turned to Ron– "You have something stuck to your chin Ron," Hermione said. His ears turned bright red.

"Really?" Neville asked, choosing not to get involved in another one of Ron and Hermione's little arguments. He frowned. "Well, lately she's only been talking about her new traveling partner…"

"You know I'm growing a beard," Ron muttered sourly. "You don't have to keep making all these snide comments about–"

"You mean that Scamander bloke?" Ginny asked, overriding her brother. "The one she wrote the book with?"

Neville nodded.

"No!" said Hermione. "It's something _in_ your… well, if you want to cal it a beard," she added airily. Ron grabbed a napkin and wiped at his face hurriedly, ears growing ever redder. Neville had a sudden vision of himself and Luna sitting in their spots– somehow he didn't think she would be worried about food dribbling onto his face.

"Er… right… sorry…" Ron muttered, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to he and Hermione's bickering.

"I just don't know," said Neville finally with a sigh, shrugging. "She and him are both naturalists, and they have the same interests, and now that they're working together… I just don't know anymore."

"Neville!" Hermione and Ginny shouted together.

"What?" he asked, alarmed.

"Really Neville," said Hermione, taking a sip of her butterbeer. "You can't just give up so easily."

"I'm not giving up. I'm just–"

"You just have a defeatist attitude, that's what," said Hermione. "If you really like her, Neville, you shouldn't just roll over and let Rolf Scamander walk all over you."

Ginny nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly!" she said. "I mean, he might know something about magical creatures, but he hasn't done half of what you have."

"And you and Luna fought together, right?" asked Harry rhetorically. "Isn't that better than– what? Looking for moon frogs together?" Ron laughed appreciably.

Neville smiled faintly, but he wasn't convinced. "But sometimes it seems like she–"

Ron shook his had violently. "Don't, Neville."

"Don't what?"

Ron and Harry exchanged glanced. "Don't try to guess what she's thinking– you'll always be wrong," Ron said.

Neville laughed. "What?"

"Girls are crazy, Neville," said Harry, picking up the thread. Ron nodded.

"And not for us mere mortals to understand."

Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, laughing incredulously for a moment, but ultimately nodded.

"Just don't overanalyze," said Hermione (as Ron scoffed: "You're one to talk. Hermione looked away, dignified: "Then I would know, wouldn't I?"). "Just tell her what you think. It'll make things so much easier in the long run."

The sky in the Great Hall registered a beautiful sunset when Neville got back to Hogwarts. Luna and Rolf were sitting up at the staff table, Luna laughing at something hilarious Scamander must've said. Strangely enough, while the green monster stirred a bit somewhere inside of him, he had absolutely no desire to go up there and steal Luna away at that moment. He didn't want to be compared, side by side, with Rolf– all he had to do was wait for a moment when he and Luna were alone and that Scamander was out of mind.

"Professor?" a high voice squeaked from somewhere a couple feet down– it was one of Neville's first years. "Professor? You have a package up in the owlery, it was too big to fly down."

"Oh, thank you," said Neville. "Do you happen to know what it is?" Perhaps his gran had found something he'd forgotten after all.

The girl shook her head. "It's all wrapped up," she said, "But it kept making all these loud honking sounds."

"All right, well, thank you very much," Neville said, smiling. He knew exactly what the package contained, and it gave him an idea.


	5. Daffodils

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**Daffodils**

"Okay– it's all clear!" said Neville, peering around the edge of Greenhouse Two as Luna and Michael Corner waited nervously behind. "They're gone." It had been pure luck, not being caught by the Carrows who were prowling the grounds that night, but Michael had gotten particularly good at Disillusionment charms and the horrible brother-sister teacher duo hadn't seen them. Hopefully, that luck would hold up.

"_So where do you want to do it, Neville?" Michael asked, looking around. Neville glanced at the greenhouse. He hated to do something like that to one of the herbology buildings, but it would be the first thing _Headmaster_ Snape would see out his window in the morning, and that was definitely preferable._

"_Here," Neville said. "You can do the spell, right, Luna?"_

_Luna smiled and nodded. "Of course," she said. It was strange, amazing, but definitely strange, how Luna could always manage to seem like she was at a picnic or party when they were out on missions for the DA. Neville always felt like his heart was going to beat a path right out of his body._

_Luna raised her wand and, with a delicate flourishing motion, whispered: "Flagrate!"_

_Immediately, brilliant red, orange, and yellow lines appeared on the side of the greenhouse. Luna moved her wand as though it was only a quill on parchment until the words _Dumbledore's Army: Still Recruiting!_ were written like fire on the wall._

"_Perfect!" said Michael, his grinning face illuminated by the words._

"_Let's just hope that– no!" Neville instinctually pressed himself against the greenhouse wall as two familiar voices grew clearer._

"… _knew I heard something!"_

"…_what's that light?"_

_Then, suddenly, even the faint light of the stars seemed plunged into darkness as Neville remembered the small pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder they'd just smuggled in a day ago– it was still in his cloak._

"_Quiet," he hissed, reaching around in the darkness and grabbing Luna's hand, which was warm even in the chilly night air._

"_Alohamora! Guys– in the greenhouse," another voice a couple feet away whispered. It was Michael, who had found the door to Greenhouse Two. Neville pulled Luna inside with him. The powder didn't seem to have penetrated inside the walls, because the moon's pale white light filtered through the glass just enough to illuminate the plants, all sleeping peacefully. And Luna didn't let go of his hand._

"_I knew I heard something!" Alecto screeched._

"_Ouch! Hey– they door's open!" Amycus seemed to have found the entrance to the greenhouse by sheer stupidity, but nonetheless, they would be caught soon if someone didn't do something quick. Neville spotted a patch of yellow on the other side of the greenhouse and, just before the Carrows entered, threw a clod of dirt as hard and far as he could._

_HONK!_

_Immediately Neville knew he'd hit his target. Professor's Sprout's honking daffodils seemed determined annoy the heck out of whoever had woken them up at such a ridiculous hour. As the Carrows stepped inside to shout at the poor flowers, the three DA members made their escape back up to the castle. And Luna was still holding his hand. There couldn't be any better time._

"_Luna" Neville said, when Michael Corner had left them. "There's something I need to tell you."_

"_Sure, Neville, what is it?"_

Meooooow!_ Mrs. Norris was at the bottom of a stairwell looking up at them, and the only thing Neville and Luna could do was split and run as fast as they could back up to their dormitories._

_---_

"Luna, there's something I need to tell you," said Neville nervously, clutching at a bouquet of the cut of honking daffodils Professor Sprout had so kindly mailed him to continue to grow in the Hogwarts greenhouses. "I've been meaning to tell you this for a very long time and­– well, I just can't wait any longer."

Neville's reflection in the mirror didn't respond, just continued to look at him with that same nervous-bordering-on-sick expression.

"Oh, I'm crazy, aren't I?" Neville shouted, slouching back onto his bed hopelessly. "She doesn't care about _me_, not when she had her naturalist friend _Scamander_ with her all the time. There's no way!"

But Ron and Harry's words came back to him in a flash– _Girls are crazy. Don't, just don't. Don't try to guess what she's thinking_– and Neville had a sudden spurt of energy.

_I fought with her, _Neville thought, walking across the grounds to her office. _That has to count for something_.

A moment after he knocked, Neville saw Luna's face peek out through a window. She looked confused, and Neville wondered if he had (of course) come at a particularly bad time. Maybe she and Rolf were eating breakfast, or having tea, or paging through the book they'd written together. Of course.

But when she opened the door, the small house that had once belonged to Hagrid was completely empty. Luna reached out and took the daffodils Neville proferred.

"Oh, these are lovely!" she exclaimed. Neville grinned. And then, Luna closed her eyes and began to talk in exactly the same way as when she'd been "replying" to Hermione's letter.

"Thank you, whoever sent them, for the beautiful flowers. I hope that you have a very nice day and good things happen to you." Then, she shut the door.

Frantic, and sick with the idea of what might have happened, Neville ran to Luna's window. He had no reflection. And come to think of it, there had been a lot of bowtruckles around Lancashire lately…

_Good things– happen to me today? Right._ Neville thought bitterly as he made his way, invisibly, back up to the castle. He just had catch the Vanishing Sickness. And it just _had_ to make its presence known the very moment he was about to tell Luna about– well, you know– _it_.

Miserably, Neville knocked on the door of the other DA member at Hogwarts, the one he would have least liked to see at the moment. Marietta opened the door, but she didn't seem at all surprised not to see anyone.

"So you're how he caught it?" she asked, arms crossed in their usual fashion. "Well, come on. At least it was only one student– their immune systems are so much quicker to overcome that we'd know by now if there were any others. But, of course, it had to be Timmy."

Neville saw his pot-breaking first year bouncing cheerily on one of the hospital wing beds, looking nearly transparent.

"Who are you talking to Madame Edgecombe? _Who'd_ I catch it from?" he asked, beaming. "Is it Professor Longbottom? Hi Professor Longbottom!" Timmy waved eagerly from his bed.

"Just pretend it isn't you, all right?" Marietta said out of the edge of her mouth. "You're completely invisible, so he won't know the difference." In spite of himself and his horrible, horrible day, Neville nearly smiled.

In her office, Marietta pulled a bright blue bottle from a shelf and placed it on Neville's side of the desk.

"Drink all of this, and then go rest on one of the beds. You should be visible again in a couple hours."

Neville nodded, forgetting that he couldn't be seen. "How did you know it was me?" he asked.

Marietta shrugged. "Just seemed the likely culprit to go spreading contagious diseases among children, that's all," she said coolly. Neville felt his face go red, but decided not to rise to the bait. He gulped down the potion, which surprisingly, wasn't terrible.

"I have lots of books," Marietta said quickly, pointing to a bookshelf behind her, as he put down the bottle. "If you get bored."

Neville didn't reply, but went to see what reading material she had– it would be boring, just sitting there for hours either doing nothing or answering more Second War questions from little Timmy.

And the book selection wasn't bad at all. While one entire shelf contained some sappy-looking romantic fiction novels, at least half of all the books were about magical plantlife. There was even _Magical Herbs and Fungi of the Mediterranean_, which Neville still thought fondly of even if it had been given him by a Death Eater only posing as the auror Moody. And then (Neville had a great shock to see this), there was _his_ book, _Wizards' Works and Wand Wood_ sitting right next to an old Hogwarts herbology textbook. Against his better judgement, he opened the book.

Someone had clearly read the book thoroughly, even going so far as to make notes in the margins about some of his findings and how they applied to medical magic. Neville snapped the book closed, grabbed the old textbook instead, and hurried out of the office to find a bed to rest in– as far away from Timmy as possible.

Marietta nearly slammed her office door shut after him, and Neville felt a sickening sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach. Why in the world would she buy his book? He opened the textbook and decided to review the germination patterns of dittany.


	6. Welcome to the Family

Disclaimer: Not mine! 

**Welcome to the Family**

It didn't, after all, take just "a few hours."

"Well, I told you, it affects differently aged people, oh, differently!" Marietta said, clearly frustrated. "I expect now that you might not be visible until tomorrow at least."

"You expect now?" Neville asked, wondering how strange it would be like to be shouted at by someone you couldn't even see. Unnerving, very likely. "Well of course you expect that _now_, after I'm still invisible!"

Marietta's face turned flaming red and Neville was suddenly glad that the first year Timmy had left, cured, some time earlier– he might not have been very happy to see two of his favorite staff members blow up at each other.

"I am a trained Healer," she said slowly. Neville could almost hear her thoughts, counting down from anger. _Ten, nine, eight…_

"And I'm a trained herbologist," he shot back coldly. Neville didn't know where this was coming from. He had never, _never_ lashed out at someone as horribly as he was then (and had been all term, really). And yet, he couldn't seem to stop.

"If I'm correct, you forgot to add the stewed knotgrass," he said. "Didn't you?"

Marietta froze, he mouth slightly open as she realized her mistake. She quickly shook her head. "Certainly not."

Neville smiled wryly and threw off his sheet to stomp toward the door. Marietta looked after where she assumed him to be, horrified.

"You can't go out there yet!" she called. "You'll infect somebody else!"

Neville shrugged and didn't care that she couldn't see. As he exited the hospital wing, he called back: "Not if the potion was brewed correctly."

The door swung shut behind him on Marietta's shocked face.

Of course, the last thing Neville wanted was to infect someone else in the castle (let alone a student!) but he figured that the person he wanted to see had been in contact with enough strange things over the course of the last three years to be able to stand contact with a recovering Vanishing man.

The grounds were quite beautiful that time of year. Students, not yet bogged down by work, were out strolling around the lake and lying out on the grass, totally at ease. Neville himself wished that he could be so relaxed. This was his first year of teaching, and so far it had been little better than a disaster.

The classes weren't to blame– the younger students were in awe of him and the older ones still admiring. With those emotions keeping the classes relatively under control, Neville had grown rather comfortable in front of his students and, truth be told, was actually a pretty good teacher. No, classes were not a problem.

It was everything else that threatened to overwhelm him. Finding himself accidentally thrown into contact with one of his least favorite former schoolmates, for example. Or being at Hogwarts with Luna again and unable to win her attention back from that self-obsessed, book-publishing, world-traveling, first-class _prat_ that was Rolf Scamander. Neville had a feeling he'd explode from all the emotions writhing inside of him, and there was only one thing to do about it.

Luna knelt on a mound of soft brown topsoil in the garden outside of her little house on the grounds, petting a niffler and letting it take what looked like an old pocket watch from her hand.

"Lu–" the name caught in his throat as, this time, Scamander really did step out from the cottage, holding a roll of parchment and beaming.

"Luna!" _he_ called. "Luna! I got a reply from your father!"

She stepped up excitedly and ran over, not bothering to brush the dirt off of her robes in her haste. The niffler, hoping for more gleaming metal objects to play with, tagged along at her heels.

"What'd he say?" she asked earnestly, nervously. "Oh, read it Rolf!"

Rolf unrolled the parchment, and with a smile and a glance back at Luna, began to read.

"_Dear Rolf: I was pleased to receive your letter, though I was not, of course, surprised by your proposal._"

Neville's blinked and shook his head, daring to move closer and hoping, desperately hoping, that he had misheard Rolf's recitation.

"_You are, undoubtedly, the best choice (I'll let you know that Luna had discussed some other options with me which would be completely unsuitable)._"

Luna clapped her hands happily. "What did I tell you? Daddy doesn't care that you didn't have a formal education! He doesn't care about those things at_ all_!"

Rolf smiled sheepishly. "I was nervous," he offered.

Luna laughed. "I told you there was no reason. But, oh, go on!"

Rolf cleared his throat and continued. "_From what Luna's told me, you are a responsible, hard working, and honorable young man. I can imagine no one else better suited._"

"No," Neville mouthed silently. It couldn't be. It simply could not be!

"_Sincerely, Xeno Lovegood. P.S: Welcome to the family!_"

Luna ran and wrapped Rolf in a massive hug. He, still looking a bit dazed from a re-reading of the letter, grinned and hugged back, the niffler chewing at a buckle on his shoe. He didn't even notice, and the niffler hitched a ride on Rolf's left foot as he and Luna stepped back inside.

Neville walked back up to the castle, head reeling. _Your proposal… the best choice… better suited… welcome to the family…_ It just didn't seem fair. Three years he had waited for Luna to come back, and when she finally did, it was engaged to another guy. Another guy, ironically enough, Neville had practically forced her to by encouraging her so heartily to travel with the Scamanders!

He trudged invisibly back up to the castle and, after making a short detour at the owlery to send a letter, back into the hospital wing. Most likely, no one would disturb him up there, and he definitely needed time to think. If someone (one particular someone, really) did bother him, though, Neville might be able to let out some of that pent up energy. It just couldn't _be_!

"I'm so sorry!" Marietta cried from her office doorway, looking genuinely upset when Neville opened the door. "I did add knotgrass, but I misread the instructions and it was far, far too little! I'm working on another batch right now, and it should be done any minute. Just a minute!"

Neville didn't say a word as he collapsed back onto his bed and drew the curtains around to shield him from outside view. He had been wrong. Neville neither wanted to think about what had just happened or vent on Marietta. All he wanted was sleep– blissful, forgetful sleep.


	7. Daffodils and Blue Hair

Disclaimer: Not mine!

**Daffodils and Blue Hair**

"Are you all right Neville?" Luna asked one morning, a day or two after Neville had regained his full, opaque appearance. "You're looking a little pale."

Neville looked up from his work repotting one of the honking daffodil bunches (it hadn't been sounding so well lately) and smiled. "Must be the Vanishing Sickness," he said as the daffodil gave a feeble, wavering honk. Neville got the fleeting impression that it knew he was lying. _Better than a Sneakoscope_, he thought wryly.

"Oh, that's right," said Luna dreamily, gazing off into the distance as if she wasn't really paying him complete attention. "That's why I haven't seen you around lately…" Well, yes and no. Still, Neville felt a twinge of resentment– she'd seemed more concerned that morning about Rolf's niffler bite than his bout of invisibility the week before.

Neville followed the path of Luna's eyes and, sure enough, spotted Rolf setting out milk for his fifth year class (they were studying knarls already). He sighed. For a week, Neville had quite conscientiously avoided Scamander and, to some extent, Luna, in order to gather his thoughts. Yet the question remained– should he try to steal her back? That letter (and her reaction to the letter, in particular) had made it pretty clear where her heart lay. Was it even worth it to try, if she so obviously didn't want him?

_Tap, tap!_

The unmistakable clicking sound of an owl's beak on the glass door of the greenhouse roused Neville from his reverie. When he opened the door, it swooped inside and (after quite happily taking a knut from Neville's callused hand) dropped a letter and soared away again.

The letter was closed with a generic seal of red wax, so Neville could have no idea who it was from. Not his gran, who had threatened to send a Howler next time if he didn't write soon. And probably not Ginny, Hermione, Harry, or Ron, non of which he had yet informed of his latest difficulties– he was, quite frankly, afraid of what they would say.

_Ginny will tell me not to give up,_ Neville thought with a sigh. _Hermione, on the other hand…_ He could very easily conjure up an image of her face, looking understandably compassionate as she said something along the lines of "Well, you are so _different_, Neville…" He couldn't decided which answer would be worse. He opened the letter:

_To Mr. Neville F. Longbottom:_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_We at St. Mungo's have recently received word that you have indeed exhibited symptoms of the contagious Vanishing Sickness. While a visible exterior would indicate that you have been treated effectively, it would still be appreciated if you would come in for examination at your earliest convenience._

_Sincerely,_

_Augustus Pye_

_St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

Neville folded the parchment and stuffed it in his pocket. _Recently received word that you have exhibited symptoms_– there was no question how that happened.

"She just can't stop reporting people," he muttered, before realizing that that was uncalled for. _Five years_, he told himself. _Five years ago._

"Pardon?" Luna asked. She was fingering one of the daffodils, which rubbed its stem appreciatively on her hand.

Neville looked up, surprised to see Luna still in the room. "Oh– nothing. Nothing. Just thinking," he said.

Luna nodded knowingly. "I've been thinking too," she said, looking up. Neville couldn't notice how much more earnest her face appeared, hardly dreamy or vague anymore at the moment.

Neville nodded.

"Someone sent me a bouquet of flowers last week, and I never found out who it was…" her voice was hopeful, almost pleading, and Neville knew what she wanted– assurance. Maybe she was getting cold feet. Strangely enough, instead of excitement on what that might mean for _his_ prospects, Neville had a sudden picture of Luna reading the Quibbler on the Hogwarts Express, multi-colored glasses askew and hair disheveled. She was his friend; he didn't want to hurt her.

"Rolf," he said after a moment's pause. Luna's face lit up in surprise, and he knew that he had hit upon the right answer. "Rolf sent them."

"Oh– that's… wonderful…" she said haltingly, walking slowly to the greenhouse door. As she stepped into the doorway, Luna turned, a question forming under her lips. But in a moment, she had turned away, and Neville felt, once again, as if he were invisible.

---

Neville took the lift to the second floor, where the cool female elevator voice informed him that he had arrived at the place for "Magical Bugs." A weedy-looking wizard in ill-fitting green robes looked over him and declared that he was, after all, no longer contagious. In less than fifteen minutes, he was told he could return back to Hogwarts.

"But it took me over an hour to fly here!" Neville said, irritated that his thestral flight hadn't been worth it after all. _Fifteen minutes?_ "Isn't there something wrong with me?"

The wizard looked at him, amazed. "You want me to get you sick again?" he asked.

"No! It's just– " And Neville got into the lift again, because there was no way he was going to be able to explain exactly what "it" was to the Healer. "It" was that he wanted a valid excuse to feel like crap. "It" was that Luna and Rolf had been spotted by his first-year class holding hands on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. "It" was that Neville had been spending increasingly greater amounts of time with Horace Slughorn, simply because even his inane stories were better than an idle mind.

"Neville? Is that you, Neville dear?" A plump woman with a tall pointed hat was striding into the lift with Neville. "Are you here to Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom? How lovely! Your grandmother was just here at the beginning of September, you know. She missed you. I think they all missed you."

Miriam Strout would no doubt recognize Neville, for all the time he'd spent in her ward over the years. She had taken good care of his parents, no doubt, but Neville could never help but feel a swooping sense of misery in his stomach whenever he saw her. Maybe because, if his parents weren't in St. Mungo's, he wouldn't have to know her at all.

"That's where I'm headed Healer Strout," Neville said, closing his eyes as the lift began to move in the exact opposite direction he wanted. _Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom._

Frank Longbottom lay in his bed while his wife stood in the doorway of her room, looking out for her Healer to return.

"Why, I have a surprise for you, Alice dear," she said in a bright voice that managed not to sound mechanical. "Neville's come to visit!"

Neville took his mother's hand and led her to her bed. "Hi Mum," he whispered as she lifted his hand and began to examine each finger. "Hi Dad."

Mr. Longbottom didn't even open his eyes as Neville pulled up a chair to the side of his parents' bed. His mum, on the other hand, seemed to find something very interesting on Neville's head and began to stroke his hair. Neville glanced at himself in the mirror and was shocked to find that his hair had gone completely blue– one of the tests performed on him earlier, no doubt.

"I have problems, Mum," Neville said as his mother continued to croon over his incredible head of hair. "You know Luna? I've told you about Luna, right? Well, she's engaged… and not to me. I don't know what to do! I don't want to see her marry Rolf, but I don't want to ruin anything for her if she's really happy, and… she seems happy." He laughed. "Can you picture Gran with her? I've told her all about Luna, and she thinks she's very brave and all, but probably not _sensible_ enough for me." Neville began to laugh, harder and harder, until he was nearly crying, Mrs. Longbottom still stroking his hair.

"All right, dear?" Healer Strout asked tentatively from beyond the curtained bed.

Neville must have choked out a suitable answer, because she never came in to check on them. His laughter had subsided into silent tears. If he had had a normal family, he might be sitting on his own bed in his own house while he explained his plight and his lucid mother stroked his hair, just like that.


	8. Grudge and Guilt

A/N: I'm so sorry! Mea culpa! I'm not even going to check to see how long it's been since I updated this story… the guilt will cripple me. And speaking of guilt, the next chapter of "Must Be Loony":

Disclaimer: Nothing's mine.

**Grudge and Guilt**

Marietta Edgecombe paced in her office.

_I've had it coming, haven't I?_

All that term, since both she and Neville Longbottom had started their jobs at Hogwarts, Marietta had hidden herself away in the hospital wing, trying rather unsuccessfully to avoid seeing that once-leader of Dumbledore's Army.

She realized it shouldn't have been such a problem for her, such a source of shame. After all, those events were five years back now, and both she and Neville were responsible adults with responsible jobs. Certainly, neither could care less about some silly school-age grudge, right?

Right?

But why then would _Professor_ Longbottom be so cold towards _Madame_ Edgecombe? And why would Marietta herself feel such a clenching guilt in her stomach whenever she passed Neville in the halls? The truth of the matter was that it didn't feel like just a silly school-age grudge. By her own actions, five years ago Marietta could have easily been counted among one of Dolores Umbridge's supporters, effectively ignoring the fact that You-Know-Who had returned. Kind of a big deal. Marietta sighed and slouched down into her desk chair. Really a big deal, even half-a-decade into the future.

_Tap-tap-tap._ Three raps on the window in quick succession, clearly a Hogwarts owl with the message she'd been expecting.

Marietta took the paper from the barn owl's outstretched leg and unrolled it, hesitant. Half of her leaped at the opportunity to clear up this grudge once and for all, and the other half plummeted.

_To Marietta_ (it read),

_Our conversation yesterday made it clear that I have been remiss in putting off a particular conversation with you for so long. Will you meet me in Greenhouse Three at 5 o'clock today?_

_Neville Longbottom_

A brief message, and almost curt. Almost as if Neville was holding back all his anger and resentment until she arrived at secluded Greenhouse Three and he could shout in peace. Of course, he'd never really struck Marietta as the shouting/yelling/enraged kind, but five years changes people, right? She definitely knew it.

"_Our conversation yesterday…"_

Did he mean the few words they'd exchanged at dinner? Neville had arrived a little late and found his usual spot next to Professor Lovegood occupied by that Rolf Scamander. Irony forced him into the seat next to her, at the far end of the table, where they each said "good evening" and ate in uncomfortable silence. Neville kept glancing over at Luna and Rolf, no doubt remembering his good old DA days and anger at Marietta– the two were, naturally, attached. He glowered at his plate all through dinner. Did that count as a conversation? The ill will between them had been tangible, true, and _nearly_ vocal– Marietta felt the whole time that Neville was on the verge of saying something to her, and the fact that he never did made the whole memory rather uncomfortable. But she knew she'd had it coming– for five years she'd had it coming– and she determined that, no matter how provoking he was, she wouldn't rise to the bait. She deserved it, whatever _it_ turned out to be, and she would take the opportunity to say what _she_ had been putting off for far too long herself.

She glanced at the clock ticking away peacefully on the wall– 4:45. _What a way to cut it short_, the young woman mused as she grabbed her cloak and hurried out the door.

***

Marietta couldn't have known it, but the truth was that Neville had written a long series of messages that had all been frustratingly crumpled and tossed into the wastebasket before that one very short, almost curt message had made its way onto the leg of a school delivery owl. He just hadn't known how to phrase what he wanted to express.

The first letter had been much too explicit. He might as well have just forgone the entire meeting itself. And with all his problems very concretely enunciated, in writing, Marietta could have been free to mock him to her heart's content.

The second letter had been rather cryptic, almost sounding like there was some sort of Hogwarts faculty conspiracy afoot. And the fact that it was signed "Anonymous" might not have done much to induce Marietta to show up.

The third letter had been written in a very shaky hand.

The fourth might have been acceptable, except for the fact that the owl pecked him so much for payment by this time that some blood had trickled onto the parchment. A little too sinister-looking for the kind of meeting he had in mind.

The fifth employed as few words as possible, and was therefore nearly perfect.

After all, Neville really didn't know how to go about asking his school-days enemy for advice. She had to despise him, both for being rather rude while passing through the halls as a fifth year and so dismissive as a professor. But people changed, and he would try to prove it. Not that they always changed for the better– Neville definitely knew that, judging by the fact that a generally tolerant person like himself could become so different while ravaged by jealousy. No wonder Luna didn't want him.

Neville shook that thought out of his head. He'd be able to talk about Luna all he wanted when Marietta got there, but as it was, all he wanted was to cover his hands in potting soil and work.

***

"Well… you're here," Neville began lamely.

Marietta nodded. "Yes, I'm here…"

The two Hogwarts staff members avoided meeting each others' eyes across their table inside Greenhouse Three. Marietta found something fascinating in her fingernails, and Neville temporarily blinded himself by staring directly at the setting sun, filtering fabulously through the colored glass of the herbology building. Watching the colored dots swirl before his rapidly-blinking eyes, Neville (unable to see the real woman sitting in front of him) had a brief fear that he was faced by his grandmother across the table, who would subsequently scold him on looking nakedly into the sun. When he realized that it was Marietta Edgecombe, however, not Augusta Longbottom, Neville wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved. Marietta had no great love for him either, that's for sure.

Marietta, for her part, was applauding herself for taking a preemptive headache draught up in the hospital wing, just before meeting Neville. She'd suffered from horrible stress migraines since… (when did they start? Fifth year? Right, naturally…) In any case, anticipating the anxiety of meeting with Second War Hero Neville Longbottom– constant source and reminder of guilt, like a ghost or a shadow– Marietta had prepared a very strong potion, and felt its contents loosening her generally-inhibited tongue.

These thoughts informed their next statements:

"Well, I guess it's safe to say you hate me," the two said, simultaneously. It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, for at first neither had heard the other over their own confession. And then, they gaped across the table in shock.

"_I'm_ the traitor," Marietta said, almost defensive of her position as the one most worthy of self-loathing. "I turned all of you in, during our fifth year!"

Neville shook his head vehemently. "But I'm the prat _now_," he said. "I've been acting horribly, whatever you did how many years ago."

Marietta frowned, confused. "So you're not going to shout, or rant, or abuse me verbally?"

Neville shook his head. "I wasn't planning on it…" he said, bewildered.

Marietta groaned and her shoulders slumped as she cradled her head in her hands. "Then I wasted my last willow bark for nothing!" she lamented, thinking of the headache draught. She glanced up to clarify. "I can't re-stock– the bowtruckle infestation… Vanishing Sickness… _you_ know."

Neville, shocked and awed that he was sitting listening to a woman who, by all rights, should despise him, laughed aloud.

"You're worried about re-stocking _willow_ bark?" he asked, incredulous. "You're really worried about _that_? You don't… you don't hate me, after all? _You're_ not going to… verbally abuse me either?"

"Of course not!" Marietta exclaimed. "I was going to apologize! After you said whatever you had to, that is." She paused. "What _is_ it you wanted to meet me here for, if not to talk about… you know… fifth year."

Neville sighed. He had been mistaken, so horrible mistaken– mistakes and misunderstandings seemed to be the general fabric of his life.

"_I_ was going to apologize," he said, echoing her previous response. "Five years is a long time to hold a grudge– I don't think I even realized I was holding it until I saw you on the train. And now– I just want to let go. Start fresh. Wipe the slates clean. Agreed?"

Neville held out his hand across the table; Marietta shook it nervously, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Agreed!" she said, a smile starting to bloom across her face. "If you don't mind me asking… what brought about this change of heart?"

Neville winced at her use of the word heart. _Hearts, heartache, and heartbreak– that's what brought it about_, he wanted to say. He had written and crumpled a score of letters to Ginny and Hermione too, though none of them were ever sent. Neville knew what he had to do. Whatever his friends might say about not giving up so quickly, or girls being crazy, Neville wasn't going to be the guy who stole away another man's fiancé– even supposing he could pull it off. Now, the only hope of relief lay in getting over Luna entirely, and what better way to start wiping the past clean than by trying to forge some sort of amiable (tolerant was probably more accurate a description) relationship with Marietta Edgecombe.

That's what Neville was thinking. This is what he said:

"Don't really know," he lied. "Must be loony, or something."

Unintentional as the unfortunate phrasing was, that wasn't very a flattering response, implying that he had to be crazy in order to let go a worthless grudge he'd held for five years. Neville winced even as the words grated across his lips. He realized suddenly that getting over Luna was going to be much tougher than he'd imagined.

"Marietta," he said bravely. "What I really wanted was you help."


	9. Blind Date

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**Blind Date**

She had (and very admirably, she thought, mentally patting herself on the back) held in the burgeoning excitement for the last hour as the stoop-shouldered Tom showed her around the inn for what seemed like the hundredth time. She got it; she understood; and all she wanted now was for her first day as landlady of the Leaky Cauldron to begin. But Tom was not the most enthusiastic of men, and so she kept her face appropriately solemn, even as every muscle itched to get to work.

"Thank you again for everything, sir," Ernie said, shaking Tom's wrinkled hand. The old innkeeper only scowled harder, revealing a mouth empty of teeth, save a few brownish lumps near the back that could have just as easily been breakfast leftovers. She grimaced.

"Yes, thank you so much, Mr…" Hannah Abbott realized with a start that, even after months of planning this exchange, she still didn't know Tom's last name. Did he have a last name? He seemed extremely old– perhaps when he was a child they didn't use last names? She would ask Ernie. No– scratch that. She would let it go. Ernie was under enough pressure at the Ministry as it was, and she had promised to do everything she could not to irritate him further. These days, that meant rarely opening her mouth.

"Mr… er…" Hannah spluttered. "What _is_ your last name, Tom?" Ernie's face took on a pinched expression. So much for being less irritating. Hannah smiled sheepishly– sometimes, curiosity couldn't be quashed.

"Kids," Tom muttered, gripping his suitcase tighter and, with a baleful glance in Hannah's direction, the old man finally left.

The moment the door swung shut, Hannah clapped her hands together and jumped up and down like a child. Ernie slumped onto a nearby barstool.

"Hooray!" she cried, grinning. "I'm an entrepreneur!"

"You're a landlady," Ernie said dourly. "Not that you're acting particularly professional."

Hannah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _Pressure at work, pressure at work._ Ernie had some terribly important security legislation he was working on– a joint project between the departments of Magical Law Enforcement and International Magical Cooperation. Hermione Granger was involved, and so was Percy Weasley… something about the Quidditch World Cup and the Second War– but that was all Hannah knew. Apparently, a great deal of it was classified.

Hannah smiled faintly. She had regained her composure– at the cost of some of that overabundance of excitement she had at the prospect of running that wizarding landmark, the Leaky Cauldron. But if she and Ernie were going to be married, then she would just have to learn to make some sacrifices.

"I guess I'm not," Hannah said quietly. "But… aren't you even a _little_ happy for me?"

Ernie frowned. "Why should I be happy?" he asked angrily. "You know I never thought this was a good idea. You _know_ I don't think you're prepared to run a business establishment as successful as this one– if it even managed to _stay_ that successful."

"Ernie!"

"And it better," he continued, "Because public service jobs like mine aren't exactly the gold mines of the magical professions. So no, Hannah, I'm not particularly happy about this purchase. It's an incredible financial risk."

Hannah's face turned bright red when she grew angry, and at the moment she was positively _aflame._

"You think I'm going to run the Leaky Cauldron into the ground?" she gasped, incredulous.

Ernie paused, considering. "Maybe I misspoke," he said finally. Hannah breathed a sigh of relief– the last thing she wanted was another fight with Ernie on a day that should have been one of her happiest.

"You're right," Ernie continued. "I'm sorry– I overreacted, and I retract that statement. There aren't many other prominent wizarding inns in London, so you'll have a guaranteed clientele, whatever other issues there are."

Hannah glowered. She was about to explain that that "retraction" (since when are you allowed to simply _retract_ rude comments anyway? He still thought it!) was most definitely _not_ an apology, when a bell tinkled from across the room. The grimy glass of the door, which Hannah had not yet had a chance to polish as she'd planned (thanks in part to Ernie's incredible, though not terribly surprising, insensitivity) only adumbrated two shadowy figures.

_My first customers_, Hannah mused, wondering where exactly happiness went to when it left you, and whether it would ever come back.

***

"Did we really have to come all the way out to London?" Neville asked, for what Marietta felt was the hundredth time. "We could have gone to the Hog's Head."

Marietta pursed her lips. "You do not take a date to the Hog's Head unless you want it to go poorly," she said, squinting up at her colleague (friend? Could she say friend yet?). "Do you _want_ this to go poorly?" she asked.

"No!" Neville exclaimed, backtracking. He squared his shoulders for a moment, resolute, but quickly lapsed back into a characteristically stopped posture. Marietta sighed; he must really have cared about Luna Lovegood– this was not the famous, confident Neville Longbottom whose golden effigy was displayed for all the world in the Ministry of Magic. He needed to snap out of it, and fast.

"I just _wonder_," Neville continued, "Why Hogsmeade is any worse a place than Diagon Alley for a… er, a… a…"

Marietta raised her eyebrows. "Date?"

"Right– that," Neville finished lamely.

"What does it matter?" she replied. "We Apparated. It's not as though you had to come by train. And she lives in the city, anyway– this is more convenient for her, so you already look considerate. It's a good first impression."

They had arrived at the murky door of the Leaky Cauldron, Muggles passing by on either side as though the entrance wasn't even there.

"Come on," Marietta said, pushing open the door.

"Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron. My name's Hannah Abbott, I'm the new innkeeper. How can I help– Neville Longbottom! Well look who it is!"

Hannah Abbott's round face had been rather glum, her voice morose and sullen, until she recognized the two visitors– as though she had been trying to recreate the less-than-welcoming atmosphere Tom had always seemed to project. But now, _now_, she had an old friend in the Leaky Cauldron, and Ernie MacMillan's useless negativity could be forgotten– for a while, at least.

"Neville, how are you?" Hannah asked brightly. "I heard you're a professor now– how exciting!"

"And I didn't know you took over here, either!" Neville exclaimed, genuinely pleased and jolted out of his recent melancholy. He glanced at the serious young man in the corner. "Hello, Ernie. Nice to see you."

Ernie nodded, rose, and shook Neville's hand. Slightly pompous, as usual.

"It's good to see you too, Neville," he said. "And you deserve to be commended for your work at Hogwarts– education is extremely important."

More than slightly pompous.

Hannah clapped her hands happily, her blonde hair shaken loose around her head in the excitement. Neville smiled, imagining that she would look just the same as ever she had at Hogwarts if she'd worn her hair in pigtails again.

"We have to catch up!" Hannah insisted, pulling Neville to the least slimy of the tables throughout the room.

"All right," Neville laughed. "You start."

"Well, I'm working here now," she began, beaming. "And Ernie's at the Ministry. And we're engaged…" She trailed off, finding herself in less-than-happy territory now.

Neville too was scowling. "We're twenty years old!" he shouted suddenly, as though something snapped inside of him, destroying his composure. "Why does everyone have to be engaged?"

Ernie looked scandalized, but Hannah only laughed. Neville smiled faintly, imagining that Marietta's face would probably look quite like Ernies at the moment, had she heard. Had she… where _had_ she gone?

"Did you see…?" he began.

"Marietta?" Ernie asked. "I don't know. I wanted to say hello– I saw her mother in the Ministry the other day and…"

***

Marietta had left almost immediately. Was she really going to be haunted by the spectre of Dumbledore's Army for the rest of her life? Would ex-classmates really keep emerging from the woodwork like apparitions fated to scare her into an early grave? For a moment, she regretted not letting Neville take his date to the Hog's Head.

But then she was briefly ashamed, feeling horribly hypocritical for deriding Neville for not getting over Luna when she had some baggage to lose herself. Perhaps she should have stayed to face her fears…?

Marietta's guilt vanished when, later that night, her girlfriend from the Ministry owled her a tear-stained message that she had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron only to find Neville Longbottom chatting it up with some chubby blonde girl over coffee. She had left without being seen.


End file.
